His New Santa Fe: The Novel
by Band10hut
Summary: A chronicle of Jack Kelly's life, from his birth to the strike to beyond. An examination of his life's events, choices, and regrets. A companion piece to His New Santa Fe: Oneshots. Please read & review!
1. Chapter 1

Rain battered the roof of a cramped Manhattan apartment. A gray cloak of a mood fell upon the establishment, as if something forbidden was occurring at the moment. In a window on the third floor, right behind the fire escape, a single candle burned persistently. The tiger orange flame licked greedily at the stub of melting wax, but no one came to extinguish it although the clock chimed twice, its way of saying, "Two o'clock in the morning! Two o'clock in the morning!"

The children of this four room apartment had long since gone to bed, save for the eldest: Belinda Matilda Kelly, a girl of ten. Round face, gray green eyes, caramel hair, freckles on her cheeks... she resembled her mother greatly. Her four younger sisters asleep in the neighbor's apartment across the hall, she had been intending to finally catch some privacy in her own home, as well as figure out why her parents herded them out earlier that day. Quiet as a mouse, she tiptoed into the kitchen toward the window. Strangely, a lone candle sat on the windowsill, burning like a bad omen. She turned on her heel slowly to see a middle aged man leaning against the inactive wood stove.

"Papa! What are you doing here?" Belinda cried, the image of a switch springing to mind.

"Waiting." Gerald Kelly twisted his hands. Beads of perspiration trickled down his balding head.

"For what?"

"Your mama, dear." He pointed to the narrow room that led to their bedroom.

"Is Mama in there?"

"Yes."

"Is she sick?" Belinda pointed to the stove. "I know how to make broth."

"No, no, dear." Gerald chuckled. "She is not ill, so far."

"So far?"

"Dear, why don't I explain." Gerald paused. He lacked talent in talking about sensitive topics, but leaving his daughter in the dark seemed wrong. How she hadn't figured this out for herself with four younger siblings, he didn't know, but to be fair Gerald did always take measures to guard her innocence.

"You know how Mama's been rather round lately?" he began shakily.

"Yes. That means the baby is coming."

"Smart girl. Well, after nine months, there comes the time for the baby to be born. That's when-" swallowing hard "-she loses that roundness. The baby comes out."

"Comes out?"

"Yes. The baby, you see, is inside of her. That's the roundness. And when it's ready it will come out to the world."

"Like an egg?"

"No, it doesn't hatch. It...it just comes out of her."

"You mean, it..." Belinda's face wrinkled in disgust. "That's gross!"

"It really is a messy process," Gerald admitted with a faint laugh. "It's also very painful. God's punishment on Eve for eating the fruit."

"It hurts too?" Belinda glanced concernedly at the bedroom door. "Maybe I should make that broth for Mother."

"No, the midwife will tend to her. Midwives help mothers giving birth." Gerald chuckled in spite of himself. "Don't worry about Mama. She's done it five times. This will be a piece of cake compared to your birth."

"What?"

"I fretted so much when you were born. Mama was in terrible pain. A whole day went by before the midwife got you out." He grimaced. "Childbirth is a messy business, like I said. I'd hate to be the midwife, always seeing that. Anyway, you're only ten and needn't worry about that."

"I'm never having children." Belinda crossed her arms. "If that's what I have to go through, forget it. No baby is worth that much work."

"You might change your mind one day," her father chided before steering her out the door. "Now get some sleep. I'll wake you when the baby is here."

"More chores for me, you mean."

"Hush Belinda. You sound like Anne, the whiner."

"I'm not whining. I have a lot of sisters to take care of."

"Good night, sweetheart." He kissed her forehead lightly before returning to his kitchen. Belinda sullenly returned to her makeshift bed in the neighbor's home and crawled into the puddle of blankets next to Anne, her junior by two years.

"What was that?" the eight-year-old queried.

"You're supposed to be asleep."

"Says you." The younger girl gave a defiant toss of her dark haired head.

"Well, if you must know, Mother's having a baby."

"A baby?"

"The baby was inside her the whole time. Now it's coming out. It hurts very much and causes a mess." Belinda yawned as she burrowed deeper in. "Let me sleep."  
Anne's blue eyes stared into the ceiling, confused. Babies coming out of Mama? Gross. Pain, mess, grit. No sir.

"I'm not having babies when I grow up," she decided aloud.

"Me neither," her older sister agreed. "Now hush."

Like ducklings in a nest, five small girls snuggled together. Reliable Belinda, rebellious Anne, clever curly-haired Margaret, and the three year old twins, Mary and Betty. Their even breaths reminded Belinda of a raspy lullaby she heard her mama sing once. Gradually her eyelids drew heavy; a comforting darkness approached, relieving her exhausted body. She closed her eyes, prepared to drift off into the misty world of dreams.

Just then a frantic pounding ravaged the door. The five girls sprang up, the hairs of their necks standing on end. Mrs. McCarthy, mistress of the apartment, bustled to answer it, her wool shawl wrapped tightly around her loose nightgown.

"It's time, it's time," she sang melodically. She gently pulled the door open to find an ecstatic Gerald quivering in his boots.

"A boy! A boy! My first son!" He seized startled Mrs. McCarthy by the arms and spun her around. "It's a boy! It's a boy!"

"Heavens, your first boy ever!" Mrs. McCarthy tittered into the wall, clutching her spinning head. "Tell the girls."

"A boy?" Belinda mused. She'd never had a brother. Her schoolmate Laura had two older brothers who tracked mud in the house and called her rude names, but younger brothers surely were different. Right?

"You've got a brother! You are so lucky!" Gerald jumped like a youthful stallion, untamed in emotion. His blue eyes glowed like polished tourmalines inlaid upon pearls. " _Tá sé ina buachaill_!"

"Speak English, not Irish!" six year old Margaret cried, not understanding.

"His name will be Jack, yes, Jack!" Their father paced Mrs. McCarthy's floor ferverently. "Kirean, the middle name, for my father. My papa must be remembered. And, like the rest of us, he will be a Kelly. Jack Kirean Kelly, first son of Gerald and Matilda Kelly of New York!"

"You won't forget us, will you?" Anne demanded. Like Belinda, she shared a special bond with her papa, so the thought of any baby boy stealing him away sickened her.

"Of course not, of course not." Gerald hugged her. "We only have love to spare for Jack."

"When will we meet him?" Belinda inquired.

"Tomorrow morning," Gerald beamed. "Now get some sleep. Be good for Mrs. McCarthy. I'll see you tomorrow." With that he jigged into the hallway back to his wife and newborn son, stopping only to thank a flustered Mrs. McCarthy.

Belinda snuggled with her sisters, her mind numb at the idea of a brother. _Jack, Jack Kelly...baby brother...Jack Kirean Kelly..._ Before she could comprehend this any further her instinct took over, and the girl drifted off into a welcome dreamless slumber.

* * *

 _ **Tá sé ina buachaill** _

**It's a boy!**


	2. Chapter 2

Dear Lillian,

I can't tell you how happy I am. I do hope this letter reaches you in the best of health and happiness. I wonder how you are doing out west; I hear it is quite sunny and windy in Kansas.

On March 23, at three in the morning, I gave birth to a baby boy named Jack Kirean Kelly. He's a beautiful baby. We named him Jack for my father. You remember his nickname was Steamboat Jack. I miss going on the boat with him. More than that, I miss him in general. I felt so terrible, lost, and alone when his ship exploded, taking him down with it. They never found the body; Mother felt awful that she had nothing to bury.

Well, I shouldn't trouble you with those thoughts. It's been many years, but sometimes I feel I never filled that gap. But somehow, I think naming my son after Father heals the wound a little.

Jack is a wonderful baby. He has my eyes, Father's eyes. Blue, like the sky. His hair's like mine too. He has a round face, but I think it'll look more like Gerald's. Speaking of Gerald, he's overjoyed to have a boy. Not that we don't love our daughters, of course.

Anne has started going to school. She made a great fuss when we originally told her she had to go with Belinda, but now she enjoys it. She has made a new friend named Eliza Mary. Anne talks about how funny this girl is, but I've never met her. I'm a bit worried that this Eliza Mary is distracting Anne from her schoolwork, but I cannot fret like this.

Belinda apparently didn't know how babies are born before Jack. Gerald had to tell her when she sneaked into our kitchen about an hour before Jack's birth. I really ought to have the girls more informed; otherwise they might make a mistake without knowing and then where would they be?

Gerald is not pleased with his work. The wages have been cut by a penny or two per hour again, but he doesn't dare stand up to the boss. If he does, he might be fired. I don't intend on being thrown out of our apartment. We've lived here for twelve years, right after we got married, and I intend to live my life here unless something better comes by. Which it won't, at least not for a Missouri river rat and her Irish husband.

I don't relish the feeling of New York particularly. I see why you wanted to leave so badly. But I don't believe it's right to run away, not after all the hard work we've put into surviving. I may have to go back to washing rich ladies' clothing to make up for Gerald's cut wages, but Belinda can keep house. I am very proud of my oldest daughter.

Margaret lost her first tooth. I so wanted to give her a penny, but we cannot afford to. I never felt so awful. Gerald was kind enough to slip two candies underneath her pillow, but I'd rather see her face light up with a penny. Then again, maybe she likes pennies and money too much. I don't know.

Lillian, I do miss you so. Write to me soon. And do visit sometime, if it is possible. I would love to play cards with you like we did as girls.

Your loving sister,

Matilda Anna Kelly


	3. Chapter 3

As soon as Gerald placed little Jack in her arms, Belinda decided that he was hers. Smaller than his father's head, he fit perfectly into her ten-year-old arms. For a baby he looked pretty good. Cerulean eyes and thin tufts of brown sugar hair inherited from his mother, but a stout nose like Papa. A perfect combination of her parents. Their parents.

"Such a beautiful child. I'll take care good of him," she declared.

"Nice girl," Matilda smiled. "I'm sure you will."

"He will be loved in this house," Gerald added. "Girls, make sure you watch over your baby brother. He's a treasure."

"Of course, Papa," Belinda agreed. Anne remained silent, not daring to look at her father in the eye, fearful he would see the bad thoughts that lay underneath.

000

For being so cute, Jack proved to be a troublesome child. He went through multiple diapers per day, cried constantly for feeding, then fussed through nursing, resumed his wailing in his cradle, then spit up on the unlucky soul who picked him up.

"Stupid baby," Anne grumbled while scrubbing yet another diaper on the roof. "More trouble than he's worth these past months."

"Now Anne," Belinda chided, though her true thoughts weren't very different. "Jack is our brother. Our only brother. We must be thankful."

"Why can't we just send him back to wherever he came from?"  
"That's not how babies work."

"Just leave him on the street. Give him a knapsack, some food, and a couple pennies. Problem solved."  
"Anne!" Belinda swatted at her with a wet diaper. Anne instinctively splashed the murky water back at her sister.

"Girls!" Matilda appeared, resting a surprisingly calm Jack on her shoulder. Only a day after giving birth, she went back to work, keeping house and washing the clothes of wealthier women. "Is the laundry done?"  
"It will be, Mama." Belinda elbowed her sister. "Get scrubbing."  
"Alright. I have to have make a delivery to Pulitzer. Take Jack." Matilda eased the baby into Belinda's arms. Annoyed, Anne wrinkled her nose.

"He's got a house full of servants. Can't he or his fancy wife do their own laundry?"  
"The housekeeper needs someone to do the sheets and linens. The maids are busy with other work. Besides, the mistress just had a baby."

"A baby?"  
"Yes. The fourth one." Matilda unpinned Mrs. Pulitzer's sheets hanging securely on a clothesline and folded them into neat squares that went into a tall basket. "A baby girl. The father's naming her Katherine."

"That's a pretty name," Belinda remarked. Anne shook her head.

"I can think of a million better names."

"Well it's not your baby," Matilda replied, repressing a giggle. "So don't criticize other people's choice of name. Perhaps it means something to the family."

"I still think I could do better."

"You'll have your chance to name your own babies someday."

"I'm not having babies."  
"Why?"  
"Belinda says it's gross, messy, and it hurts. Forget it."  
"Oh Anne." Matilda snickered before heading downstairs. "You might change your mind someday."

"Never!" the girl proclaimed proudly.

"Ah. I've got to be off, so take care of Jack." With a nod their mother disappeared down the stairs. Belinda cradled her brother while her sister cringed.

"Do you have to hold him like that?"

"That's how you're supposed to hold a baby."

"Another reason I'm not having kids."

"Must you always be so contrary?"

"Must you always be so good?" Anne mimicked. "Why can't you ever get in trouble like I do? You're Mama's perfect angel, all good inside."

Belinda's face burned red. "I am not a perfect angel. I make my mistakes, but unlike you I actually learn from them. So there."

"Of course, St. Belinda. May I pray to you for your special goodness?" Anne bowed in mock reverence. "Oh St. Belinda, bless me!"

"Stop it! That's, why, that's sacrilegious!" The older girl backed up in Christian horror.

"See? Mama's perfect angel."

"Well you're Papa's wild animal. Always getting into mischief. You just create more work."

"I work as hard as you."

"I don't see you taking care of this baby."

"You asked to have him."

"That's because I love him."

"Oh, yes, Mama's good angel, taking care of her precious brother no matter what. So much better than her devil sister, who'd sooner dump him on a corner."

Blood pouring into her scarlet cheeks, Belinda stamped her foot with each word. "I. Am. Not. Mama's. Perfect. Angel. So. Stop. Saying. I. Am."

As soon as "am" flew from her lips Baby Jack jolted up before retching into Belinda's shoulder. The remnants of his previous nursing spewed out, soaking through her white apron.

"Oh Jack! Ugh, disgusting, oh why now?" Ready to puke herself, Belinda shoved Jack into Anne's reluctant arms. "What a mess! Do you know this was my last clean apron? Bad bad baby!"

Anne, on the other hand, guffawed appreciatively. "See Jack? You've mussed the angel." Baby Jack, totally oblivious, grinned at her. A kind of grudging respect from Anne had to be conceded. After all, he ruined Belinda's angelica persona. Now she wouldn't be rushing to tend to his every need. He'd be just like any other baby; a nasty, dirty, irreplaceable treasure for them to look out for.


	4. Chapter 4

"Mama's expecting again," Belinda whispered in Anne's ear. "See how she's getting round?"  
"Great, another Jack."

"You like Jack now, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I don't like having to clean up after him all the time."

"He's bigger now."

"Which means he'll be running around the house like a bull."

"I think of him more as a horse."

"A palomino."

"What?"  
"A palomino. One of those wild horses they got out west."

"I guess that works."

Anne buttoned up her dress. "I don't wanna go to school. It's no fun ever since Eliza Mary had to quit."

"Why'd she quit?"  
"I told you, her family needed her to work." Anne wiped her eyes. "It's not fair. We used to have so much fun. I don't know if I'll ever see her again."

"You might."

"I feel it in my bones that I won't. If I feel something in my bones, then I know it's gonna happen for sure. So there." Anne tied the blue ribbons in her mahogany braids.

"Anne! Belinda! Hurry or you'll be late for school!" Matilda, caressing her stomach as if she were stroking an infant's head, held out the dinner pail. "Girls!"

"Coming, coming." Anne scurried out of their bedroom to grab their dinner. "Why must we go to school?"  
"I want you to be educated and better yourselves in life. I'm hoping one of you might be a teacher someday. I remember every one of my students, you know."

"Were they like your children?"  
"Not quite, but I liked them very much." Their mother sighed nostalgically. "They've been scattered to the winds. Half of them were pulled out to go to work. Like Eliza Mary. It's a sad thing."

"Yeah." Before she got weepy, Anne scampered out. Belinda followed, smoothing her fawn colored skirt. Matilda made sure to kiss her good-bye before escorting her out the door. Directly after the big girls left Margaret emerged from the children's bedroom.

"Mama, I want to visit Nora today."

"Is Nora free?"

"Yeah, I think so. Can I?"  
"If her mother gives her permission. But stay in sight of the building, okay?"  
"Okay." The seven year old flew outside, neglecting to shut the door to the hall. This left only the three youngest in the nest. Mary, already a little lady, poured imaginary tea into Betty's tin cup. The girls' rag dolls lined the wall, drinking out of thimbles or eating cookies made of buttons. Thoroughly uninterested in playing dolls, Jack let out a pitiful wail.

"Ma, he's crying again!"

"I need to be going to Pulitzer's, I'll take him with." Matilda hoisted the baby out of his crib while balancing a laundry basket on her hip. "You girls come with me. I can't leave you at home alone."

"No." Betty's favorite word.

"Betty."

"No. Don't wanna."

"Elizabeth Hannah Kelly, mind your mother."

"No." In response Matilda set the basket down and grabbed her daughter by the hand. Betty kicked, screaming like a demon, until her mother pulled her to her feet. "I won't go! I won't go!"

"Betty, you need to obey your parents. If I leave you here alone, someone might come in and do bad things."

"What bad things?"

"Things I can't tell you. When you're older."

"You say you can't tell because you don't know! You don't know anything!" Betty launched a sharp kick at Matilda's ankle. Matilda yelped, her grip loosened, and Betty took off. For a four year old, she could run pretty fast.

"Betty! Come back!" Matilda rested Jack on the floor before running after her young daughter. The hallway door swung open. Matilda cursed herself for not closing it after Margaret's quick departure. "Betty!"

Hiking her skirts up in a most unladylike manner, Matilda galloped down the hall. No sign of her. She stumbled down stairwell after stairwell, pausing only to question a passerby if they saw a little girl. One old man answered that he noticed a small child running outside in tears just moments ago.

"Thank you!" she cried before barreling out the door to the street. _Why did God make you so stubborn, Betty? Why now, of all times?_

Fortunately Matilda spotted her on the street, sitting by Margaret and Nora Roberts, a shy girl with green eyes. Betty sat beside her sister, fussing under an annoyed Margaret's watch.

"Can you take her?" Margaret snapped, shoving Betty in their mother's arms.

"Don't be saucy to your elders," Matilda chided, hugging the girl close. "Oh Betty, you scared me like crazy. Don't ever do that again, okay?"

"No, no, no." Betty continued weeping even as the sisters trudged back upstairs where Mary and Jack waited. Matilda, unwilling to risk another disastrous tantrum, left Margaret in charge of the house. The clever seven year old agreed on two conditions: that Nora be allowed to visit and Jack go to the Pulitzers'. Weary from the ordeal, Matilda gave in.

"Come on baby," Mattie whispered into her baby's ear. "Let's go to a rich family. Maybe you can see their baby girl." Jack stared blankly, not understanding.

"You don't understand anything that's happened, have you? Lucky baby."

000

"You're late." Mrs. Pulitzer's lady's maid, Mrs. Pille, coldly greeted her at the servants' entrance. "I don't care for dilly dallying."

"My daughter ran away," Matilda replied curtly, pushing the laundry into her hands. "I don't suppose you would understand, having only Mrs. Pulitzer to tend to."

"Yes, she is a good employer. One would think twice about chasing runaway babies while making more as opposed to disciplining them."

"How observant of you, Mrs. Pille," the washerwoman grumbled.

"In case you've forgotten, I don't do common laundry," the maid spat, dropping the basket on the floor. Freshly pressed white sheets spilled out.

"I just finished those!" Matilda bent down only to bolt back up, pain shooting up her back. "Oh, it's because of the baby."

"Which one?" Pille taunted, her stony eyes fixed on Matilda's belly.

"Has the laundry finally come?" Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper, swept into the servants' hall. "Good heavens, what's happened?"  
"This woman's expecting. Because her tardiness as well as her babies, she's dropped the freshly finished laundry," Pille said, not even bothering to hide her glee. "This is the third late delivery, isn't it Mrs. Kelly?"

"No, I'll do better, it's just because of what you said earlier."

"Mrs. Kelly, my dear," Higgins sighed, "you're doing too much. You have other clients, I'm aware, and six children, excluding the one you are going to have. I'm afraid we can't afford late washerwomen anymore. I highly respect you, but I fear we must let you go."

"Let me go?" Matilda's jaw dropped. "Mrs. Higgins, please, I need this job, I-"

"Mrs. Pille tells me you struggle with your work. I won't burden a woman with a job she can't handle. To my deepest regrets, I dismiss you from our service, Matilda Kelly. Have a good day." Ignoring Matilda's distress Mrs. Higgins strutted away. Matilda leaned against the wall, her head spinning.

"You've been dismissed. Be on your way now." Pille gloated. Every fiber of Mrs. Kelly's being ached to punch her smug face.

"If that's the case, then I better be off," she decided, her vigor returning. "I entrust the laundry to you, Mrs. Pille. Have a good day." She dumped the remainder of the linens on the floor at the maid's feet. "I doubt we'll meet again. I don't hope we ever will." Curtsying slightly she strode out the door, swinging a light basket in one hand and bouncing a cheerful Jack in the other.

"We don't have to work for that mean lady anymore, do we?" she cooed.

"Look sharp!" A servant dressed in navy blue pushing a pram halted a foot away.

"My apologies." The former washerwoman scooted to the side. "You are the nanny?'

"Yes. I'm taking Miss Katherine out for a stroll. Would your child like to meet her?"

"Oh, why of course." Matilda didn't expect such kindness from Pulitzer's nanny. She tilted Jack toward the pram. "Look Jack. That's Miss Katherine. Say hello."

Under a couple layers of lacy blankets (perhaps linens Matilda had washed), a pair of gray eyes peeked out. Tufts of chestnut hair stood on end, curling at the ends. The baby made no sound, but her eyes suggested an intelligent mind.

"She's lovely," Matilda exclaimed. "Look Jack, look."

Jack took one glance before gagging. Just like the incident with Belinda, foul smelling slop disgorged from his tiny mouth. Only this time it stained the snowy blankets of Miss Katherine Pulitzer.

"Jack!" Matilda shrieked in horror. "What have you done?"

"My God!" Nanny yanked the pram away, disgusted. "Leave at once!"

"I'm so sorry, I'll wash it for free!"

"Get out! And stay away!" Nanny hurried to the house, pushing the now wailing baby in her ruined pram. Matilda sprinted home with a messy baby, an empty blanket, and a broken pride.

000

"That's hilarious." Gerald didn't share Matilda's embarrassment at dinner.

"Gerald, it was humiliating. I'll never get work anywhere that nice."

"You didn't like doing their laundry. Took ages to get it right. And that woman, Mrs. Pille. She lives up to her name." Her husband snickered as he sipped cider. "None of that was your fault. I wonder what Nanny said when she came in with that baby covered in Jack's mess."

"It's not funny!" Belinda politely held her tongue, but Anne chuckled heartily.

"That's great Mama!"

"Anne! Mind your manners." Matilda wagged a finger at Jack, who now gurgled without remorse. "Remind me not to take you anywhere ever again."

"What's the date?" Belinda inquired, changing the subject.

"March 23," Gerald announced. "Speaking of Jack, we have something for him."

"Oh yes." Anne rushed to the cabinet, from which she pulled a diminutive cake. "Happy birthday Jack! Your first one!"

"Not so much of a baby anymore, huh?" Gerald ruffled his son's hair. "Atta boy, puking on Mama's boss's daughter."

"Gerald."

"Very well, Mattie girl." He winked. "But I'll never let him live this one down."

"Why?"  
"For his safety. From now on he better be mighty scared of Katherine Pulitzer."

"Very funny, Gerald."


	5. Chapter 5

**To the Workers of Mac-Griffin Factory**

 **If you are not satisfied with the way you have been treated by the boss, come to the union meeting directly after quitting time at 7 o'clock. For those that read, spread the word to those who can't.**

 **Go to 605 W. 196th St to Apartment 43, the home of union treasurer Gerald Kelly.**

"Gerald, what is this?" I demanded. "How did you get these?"

"Printed 'em," he replied, setting a stack of fliers on the table. "Made them just this morning."

"How? You didn't pay for them, did you?" Gerald could be rash with money, so I made it my business to figure out every one of his business deals.

"No, no, we got these for free." He smirked. "You wouldn't accuse me of being so foolish, would you?"

"Gerald, if you're doing what I think you're doing, stop right now." My tone rose. Most wives were not so candid with their husbands; though I normally was sweet to him, I wouldn't be a rug to be stamped upon.

"Matilda, _mo gra, rud beidh ceart go lor_." Everything will be alright. Sure.

"Don't _Matilda, my love_ me." I rubbed my swollen belly. "I have a baby coming in four months. Do you really think I want you to lose your job?"  
"Mattie girl-"

"Don't Mattie girl me either!" I pointed to the children's bedroom. "It's not like we're newlyweds. We have six children and another coming. I don't intend on raising them in the poorhouse."

"Nonsense, this is just a little meeting between the union."

"Union? Since when did you have a union? Besides, why in God's name would they make you the treasurer? You weren't hitting the bottle, were you?"

"Nay, you needn't worry in the least." My exasperating husband clapped his hands together like he did whenever he accomplished something. "Now, I need to ask you a favor. You see, the boys get awful hungry after fifteen hours on the job. I need you-"

"Oh no, Gerald, you can't be serious."

"Mattie girl, just this one time, please, it's not good to send guests home hungry."

"So that makes it fine to make your family starve!" Sick of the discussion I banged my fist on the table. "This is not a free land, no matter what they say. You of all people should know this."

"Mattie-"

"Stop it! Just stop it! I'm not cooking for all these men, so put that in your pipe and smoke it." I turned on my heel and stormed into our bedroom, making sure to close the door.

Why had I married him? He had no regard for me or my babies, including the one I carried. He started a union, then became treasurer, now invited this it over without bothering to tell me. When did he have time? How? He didn't even have the decency to answer my question about the fliers.

"Matilda, I know I should've told you," Gerald apologized pathetically through the door.

"Go away," I hollered. "Now! I'm not cooking, so send them home hungry or find a different house."

"It's not a party, it's an important meeting."

"I don't care."

"Matilda," he growled. "Don't go there."

"I don't care," I reiterated, knowing how much that phrase bothered him. He hated it due to a variety of reasons, mainly it excused laziness or, worse, the callousness of bosses. "I don't care, I don't give a damn..."

"MATILDA!"

"I DON'T CARE!" I leaned against the door. Gerald could feel my weight, he'd know not to push me physically. Especially since I carried his child.

 _This one will have to be the last_ I reminded myself. Thanks to his union, I doubted we'd be able to feed the kids we already had.

"Tú fhoirceannadh dom," he grumbled in defeat before walking away. The hours of hauling laundry, cooking meals for eight, washing the dishes, polishing my departed mother's silverware, and finally giving the floor a good scrub finally dawned on me. Barely able to groan, I flopped on my bed. The aged mattress provided no relief to my cramped back, but putting my feet up felt wonderful.

"No more kids," I muttered, rubbing my belly. "Gerald, no more kids. I can't take it anymore." Mrs. Pille's hateful words from six months ago resurfaced.

"Mother?" Belinda pushed the door open.

"Not now, sweetheart. Mama's very tired."

"Jack wants to see you." She dragged in the boy, my son of eighteen months. He knew how to walk- he could scamper across the kitchen rather swiftly before falling on his knobbly knees- but preferred to be carried by his sisters.

"Not now, can't you take care of him?"

"Ma!" Jack broke free of Belinda's protective arm to dash toward me. "Ma!"

"Jack, please go back with your sister." I sat up wearily. "I'm tired."

"Ma! Ma! Ma- ah!" He stumbled and crashed on the floor. Immediately tears began welling in his eyes.

"Oh Jack." If there's anything that got me up quick, it was seeing my children in pain. A mother's weakness. I rose to scoop him up. "Sh, sh, it's going to be okay."

"Is he hurt badly?" My eldest frantically inspected his knee.

"No, just a bruise. Poor baby." I rocked him tenderly. "Don't run so fast until you can walk better."

"He's rather injury prone these days."

"Yes he is. Don't worry, I'll take care of him. Go with your sisters. Your father is having some guests over, and I don't want you to get caught up in it."

"Guests? Has Aunt Lillian-"

"I wish. No, your papa's coworkers. Stay there with your sisters and shut the door. Do not open it unless I am coming."

"What if someone needs the privy?"

"Then come get me."

"Yes Mama." She left us. Jack ceased crying, resting his head against my bosom, his blue eyes darting about.

"You're such a big boy, aren't you?" I crooned. "Yes you are." I bounced him up and down lightly, eliciting a series of delighted coos. "Mama's big boy, aren't you? Soon you're gonna have a little brother or sister. Maybe you won't be the only boy, huh?"

"Ma," he repeated, his favorite word.

"Ma. Can you say Papa? Your daddy would love that."

"Ma."

"Come on, say it with me. P-ah."

"Ma."

"Stubborn like your papa, hmm? Say pa." I said again. "Pa. Pa."

"P-pa," he stuttered.

"Good, good!" My bitter mood ascended. "Say it again."

"Pa. Pa. Pa." He observed the movement of my mouth. "Papa." My clever son. Your papa will be so delighted."

"Papa."

My mood drooped somewhat as I recalled my harsh words to Gerald. Not to mention his union. Although he acted recklessly, leaving him to rot seemed wrong.

"Let's go help your papa," I bid Jack. "I'll cook his friends supper, and you can talk to him. Okay?"

"Ma."

"Sweet Jackie." I kissed his forehead lightly. We exited the main bedroom to the kitchen. Much to my surprise, the stove burned feverishly, a pot simmering on top. Pastel vegetable peelings, flaxen potato slices, evergreen cabbage, a scarlet tomato.

"Hello Mother." Mary curtsied to me. "We're making dinner, if you don't mind."

Belinda and Margaret shredded cabbage and peeled potatoes. Anne mixed up vegetable stew while the twins performed any extraneous tasks. A rich aroma drifted across the apartment, sprinkled with my daughters' charity.

"Oh girls, you shouldn't have!" My conscience berated my actions further. My daughters, my beautiful girls, had operated the kitchen all by themselves. No fights, no messes (yet). Pride choked my throat.

"We knew you were tired, so we did the cooking," Anne explained. "Do you like it?"

Like it? "Sweetie, I'm so proud of you." I wrapped each of them in a bear hug. "You deserve a treat. Tomorrow we'll go out and have a picnic in Central Park. We can even buy ice cream."

"Ice cream! Really Mama?" I almost regretted mentioning the ice cream, especially since it was a luxury, but I brushed that worry away. What good would saving pennies do if you couldn't enjoy life?  
"Really. By the way, your brother learned how to say Papa."

"Make him say it!" Betty ordered.

"Say it!" Margaret begged. Jack stared at her, confused. I chortled before staring into his eyes- my eyes.

"Say Pa."  
"M-ma," he stuttered.

"No, Pa. Remember?"

"P-p-a."

The girls squealed in excitement. Belinda took him so I could tend the kitchen. Soon they were each trying to get him to say different words, like their names.

"Mar-gar-ret."

"Ma."

"No!"

"Pa."  
"Nice try."

000

"Matilda, I never should've done what I did without asking you first, so-"

"Gerald, it's alright," I told him. "It doesn't matter anymore."

"What's all the food for?" he inquired, eyebrows raising.

"The girls cooked most of it. Can you believe it? I'm very proud of them. I bet the union will love it."

"Matilda, about the union."

"Gerald," I admitted. "I'm not too keen on the union, but I won't stop you from doing what you think is right. That's why I married you, right? You always did right, even if it cost you big."

"Oh Mattie." He stroked my cheek, thumbing my beauty mark. "I didn't tell you again, I thought you were angry, but I told them to find food elsewhere."

"What?"  
"We moved the meeting."

"To another day?"

"No, to another location. Don't worry, it's safe."

"But, but- you mean we made all this food for nothing?"

"I guess."

Frustration nagged the back of my throat, but I concealed it. _There must be a way out; think, think._

"Girls, get your shawls. It's chilly. Belinda, Anne, would you dears help me load up the food?" I turned to my husband. "Where exactly is your meeting?"

"Mattie, you're not serious."

"I'm speaking of food." I laughed. "Why would I not be serious? So where do we go?"  
"You're not going to like it."

000

The Togalach, or "The Building" in Scottish, loomed in the shadows. Glass windows, some broken, all layered in black soot, failed to reflect the slightest glare. Rats the size of Baby Jack's head ducked in and out of holes, squeaking shrilly. The walls of the Togalach radiated an eerie, melancholy mood, a drink called abandonment.

"No one's run this place since before we got married," I informed Gerald. "How did you get them to move the meeting here so fast?"

"Word of mouth. I warned you."

"I know." We approached the deserted warehouse, Gerald's arm clutched around my waist. I questioned my judgment in bringing the girls. Who knew what lay inside?

"Kelly." A portly fellow older than my husband greeted us. "I knew you'd make it. Is this your lovely wife?"  
"Dustin." The men shook hands. "Aye. Matilda brought food, even though she been working all day."

"Actually the girls prepared most of it," I interjected. "Pleasure to meet you, Dustin-"

"DeLuca. Dustin DeLuca. Matilda Kelly, I've heard more than my share bout you from Gerald." He grinned. "Tell me, how's the baby coming along?"  
"Oh, good, I suppose." I cringed inwardly. It's not right to just talk about pregnancy casually, especially with a strange man.

"May we get down to business?" Gerald queried tiredly. I squeezed his hand, knowing he shared my sentiments about DeLuca.

"Course, of course. Come this way." He ushered us into the Togalach. Shockingly the night chill didn't penetrate the aged walls. Rows of candles lit the way. Tuning out DeLuca's incessant babbling, I surveyed the interior. Bundles of cobwebs arched across the wooden ceiling, which warped so much that it arched like a cathedral. Dust, crumbs, dirt packed in corners. The occasional beetle skittering across the floor. Yet the Togalach appeared strangely beautiful to me.

Broken bottles cast transparent color in tiny specks under the candlelight. Moths spread their patterned wings, flitting around the light. Most alluringly, the path of candles.

"Jacob's ladder," I murmured. Only Jack, who laid in my arms, seemed to hear. He twisted to get a more comfortable position.

"Pa," he uttered. "Papa."

Gerald paused. "Did someone ask for me?"  
The girls shook their heads. Jack pouted. "Pa," he parroted. "Papa."

"Papa." Gerald slipped him from my arms into his. "Papa. Did you-"

"Pa! Pa!" Jack gurgled. "P-pa. P-pa. Pa-pa."

"Papa! You speak to me!" My spouse glanced at me. "You taught him, didn't you?" he reckoned, noticing my sly grin.

"Now he says Mama and Papa." I beamed as I traded the food for the baby. "Now off to your meeting; don't be home late."

"Papa!" Jack yipped as a farewell. Gerald hugged each of his daughters before planting a peck on my lips. Brief, tender.

"Atta boy. I'll see you at home, my Mattie girl." He clapped my back as we sauntered out of the Togalach, guided by Jacob's ladder, into the foggy streets of the outside. My five little women, my baby son, the child protected inside me. I don't dare speak, my heart could burst with all this love.

* * *

 **Chapter 5 is from Matilda Kelly, Jack's mother's, POV. Togalach is Scottish for building. Jacob's Ladder refers to the staircase Jacob, the third patriarch of Israel, saw in his dream at Bethel.**

 **Gerald's Irish Gaelic**

 _ **Mo gra**_

 **My love**

 ** _Rud beidh ceart go lor_**

 **Everything will be alright.**

 _ **Tú fhoirceannadh dom**_

 **You wound me.**

 **W. 196th St, where the Kelly family lives, actually can be found in Manhattan. On it can be found the City College Academy for Arts. Though I lack the means to properly research the history of addresses, streets, and buildings, I found it fitting that the Kellys live near site of a school for the Arts.**

 **Please Read & Review! Carry the banner.**


	6. Chapter 6

January 4, 1884

Dear Lillian,

I write to you again with good news. I have borne another little son, who has lived. He's a wonderful child named Elliot Thomas. Elliot for our uncle, and Thomas for our brother, may God bless him. I like how we tend to use old names for our children; it keeps our loved ones' memories alive.

Jack is not so keen on having a baby brother. Can you believe he's almost two? Belinda is already twelve! She got a new scarf- I spent ages knitting it. I'm worried that due to Gerald's union, we might be cast out into the streets. But why should I let that burden me now? I just bore Elliot.

Elliot is a sweet child. He has red hair like Thomas, even his freckles. Oh Lillian. He looks so much like our brother that I might cry. I do hope that he outlives Thomas by a long time.

Why do I constantly talk of death in the midst of birth? It's getting harder to write to you, since postage costs money. I hate this constant scraping. Maybe I should go west.

How are you and Hank? I heard the soil is rich in Kansas. Have you built new house? I do envy you, being able to build houses out of shanties, having lots of space. New York is too crowded, I do agree with you.

Jack can speak now. He says, "Mama, Papa, you, why." Especially his favorite word: "no." He's very much like Betty. Did you know that Betty ran away on Jack's first birthday? I don't remember why we were fighting, but she just ran out the door. I felt sick and nervous, but Margaret found her outside. That very same day, I got fired by Pulitzer's horrid staff. Jack then spit up on the boss's baby. I doubt we'll ever come into contact with them again.

Gerald has started a union. He's the treasurer. I am nervous. We can't afford for him to lose his job. I wish he would be less rash, but then again, I married him because of his uncompromising sense of justice. If only I could be as brave as he.

Belinda is uninterested in boys; thank God. Anne is the same. But Margaret's been staring at this classmate of hers, Eugene Steinbeck. He's a handsome child, I'll give him that. Nut brown hair, black eyes, dimples. He makes her laugh. Unfortunately he's also a handful. Once he sassed the teacher, then hid her ruler so she couldn't discipline him. Bad influence.

Please tell your girls that their Aunt Matilda loves them. I long to see them; I bet they've gotten so tall. Vera is the same age as Belinda, I believe. And Ruby, whom I've not seen since you moved thirteen years ago! I would love to see your face, to hear your laughter, to play cards.

Your loving sister,

Matilda Kelly


	7. Chapter 7

March 26, 1884

Dear Matilda,

I am absolutely delighted you have another son. I wish I had a bouncing baby boy, though I doubt I'd survive. Having Ruby was one thing, but bearing Vera nearly killed me. I'm awful sorry about the money issues. If you like, come live with us!

It's going alright in Kansas. Hank doesn't like it here anymore; he keeps talking about how he wants go somewhere else. I keep telling him if he can't keep his head out of the clouds, we'll never find the right place. I'm mean, we just got the house built. It's not very big, only six rooms, but it beats the shanty by a mile. He just gets mad at me. My marriage is not the happiest; I almost wish I married Phillip Myers, that boy from so long ago.

I remembe he used to make me laugh. We were just like you and Gerald were back then, and we'd probably wouldn't be very different. However, I married Hank so I could get out of New York. I wonder where I'd be if I chose Phil.

Enough of that moping. I'm content to be in Kansas. The town, Sherman Hill, is booming. Folks love the fertility. I got myself several yards of poplin and a new bonnet at the dress store that just opened. Eastern people flock to that town. I'm not sure how many will actually stay; you'd do better than the whole lot.

A school finally has been established, so the girls are studying all the time. I recall you stalling when we had to walk to school together, remember? You even sat in a muddle puddle -on purpose- as an excuse to go home to Mother, since you didn't have another clean dress. Mother, God rest her tired soul, almost thrashed you.

That was back when Pa and Thomas were living. I miss them terribly, as do you. I used to be jealous of Pa taking you on boat trips. He taught you everything there was to know about river piloting; you knew more than Thomas! Had you been a boy, you'd have made a fine captain. I never had the patience to listen to him like you.

I wish I was like you a lot. I want your courage, your fire, your sweetness. I'm just not as strong as you sister. I hate to admit it, but I'm still coveting you. I know it's sinful, selfish, ungrateful, has no place in this letter, but I have to let this out. You're my sister; I love you. I trust you.

I hope everything works out with the union. Say hello to the children for me. I would love to see you, as do the girls. I keep telling them stories about us when we were their age. I would love a game of poker. Please consider my offer on moving; I need the company desperately. I'll even send you money for supplies; the field is a gold mine.

Your loving sister,

Lillian Aster

P.S.: Happy Birthday Jack. Two years old already!


	8. Chapter 8

"Gerald, was that really necessary?" Matilda demands. I stagger through the window on the fire escape, clutching a bough of evergreen. Needles scatter on the wet floor, floating on puddles. The bitter winter wind claws at me, inviting me into her chilly embrace. I reject her with a slammed window.

"Mattie girl, it's almost Christmas," I protest as I yank my scarf down from my mouth. "Think of the children."

"Where did you get that?" my wife asks, pointing at the branch. "How much did it cost?"  
"Nothing." I'm not lying.

"Lately you've been bringing things home- fliers, a scarf, now this- and saying they're free." Hands on hip, she sighs. "Please tell me you're not stealing."

"Why would you say that?" I snap, her accusation stinging. "I am not a petty thief."

"I'm not saying you are, I just don't understand how you can get anything for free."

"Well, I'm smart. I know where to look. So there." I'm not telling her how I dug through the trash for three hours to get scraps for the scarf, nor how the guys and I used an trashed printing press to print the fliers. I'm definitely not mentioning the pine tree in Central Park that now is missing a twig or two.

 _She doesn't need to worry_ , I tell myself as I reopen the window to prepare the branch. I shake the snow from the branch on the fire escape. Loose, brown needles either fall or are pinched off. Wearing my mittens, I fluff the emerald bough, reaping whatever festiveness this one branch can offer. Finally I wrap a red ribbon around the hard stem and hang it on a hook sunk in the ceiling. Matilda, although tittering in suspicion, is visibly pleased by the small Christmas tree.

"Papa! Papa!" A three year old boy with caramel hair like my wife's barrels into my knees, wrapping his lanky arms around my calves. "Papa!"

"Why good evening Jack!" My arms throb from fifteen hours on the job at Mac-Griffin's shoe factory, but I still scoop my son up. He squeals, waving his arms above his head.

"What's that?" he chirps, pointing at the branch.

"That, my boy, is the closest thing we have to a Christmas tree," I explain. "Rich people can afford a big tree in their house, which they decorate with ornaments and tinsel. We haven't any of that, so Papa did the best he could."

"Huh?" He stares at me, his three year old brain struggling to comprehend this. Chuckling I delve into further detail, describing the tradition of Christmas trees, how nobodies like us managed, and so on. I made sure to leave out words like "poor," "rich scum," and "struggling to make ends meet." Toddlers shouldn't have to fret.

"Tell me a story," he begs after I finish a dull lecture on Christmas trees.

"About what?" I reply playfully.

"You," he peeps. "Tell me bout you."

"You've heard so many stories about me. Why do you want another?"  
"Tell me! Please!"

"Alright, alright." Resting on our one couch, Jack perched on my knee with adoring eyes, I recite a tale very close to heart.

 _"Once there was a family of three: a mother, a father, and a son. They lived on a small farm in Ireland, not too far from Dublin. They loved each other very much, but life was hard. You see, they did not have very much money. Their house only had one room, the soil yielded little, and the landlord always demanded more money from them. The boy and his parents went to bed hungry every single night. However, no one complained, since this was how most people lived. They worked for rich men in exchange for a home, as tenants._

 _One day, a terrible famine struck Ireland. The potatoes farmers grew to eat died of a strange sickness. Everyone in Ireland ate potatoes, so without potatoes, they were very hungry. Even the rich landlords did not have enough. So the boy's family packed up their belongings, said good-bye to their home, and walked all the way to Dublin. It took them an entire day; when they finally reached the city, the boy's feet hurt horribly. Since they didn't have money for an inn, they slept in the street._

 _The boy started to wonder if this journey would bring any good. All he knew was that he felt tired, hungry, and homesick. He missed his friends back home terribly. His mother noticed his sadness, so she told him a secret: she could read!_

 _Not many Irish peasants could read. The mother worked as a maid in a big house as a teenager, so she secretly studied the master's books at night. She wanted her son's life to be better, so she began teaching him to read that night in the street. The next morning, the father went to the harbor to get tickets for a ship to America. Immigration is a difficult process, so several nights in the street went by until the father finally could buy tickets._

 _They boarded a ship, the Seagull, a great ship with white sails- the biggest one they'd ever seen- that would take them and thousands of other Irishmen across the ocean to America. The boy was at once excited and scared. He definitely wanted a better life, but he would miss Ireland. As the ship pulled away from shore, he stood on the deck, waving good-bye to his mother country. Soon Ireland became no more than a blur on the horizon. He cried, knowing he'd never see his homeland again. His father, seeing how unhappy his son had become, hugged him tight and told him America would make up for his lost Ireland._

 _All anyone on that boat talked about was America. Folks said you could become mighty rich. You could arrive with nothing but the shirt on your back and be a millionaire- a man with a million dollars- ten years later! No potato famines, no tenants, none of the hardships in Ireland. The boy wondered how great this America must be._

 _The Seagull was not so great. Rats ran through the walls. Horrid storms rocked the boat, making passengers sick. The captain charged the families more than they could pay. Worst of all, getting sick was very easy. Some people got so sick they died. This happened so much ships like the Seagull became known as "coffin ships."_

 _The boy's mother continued teaching him how to read. She owned a book with several fairy tales in it that she brought from the great house she worked in. Every day they studied. Soon the boy could read entire stories! He even learned to write sentences. As a reward, his mother gave him a blank journal to write his thoughts in. He saved the journal, for he had no thoughts to write down._

 _Days passed. Life on the ship was crowded and cramped. He hated the smell, the lack of space, everything. He couldn't concentrate. The boy still felt the pains of hunger, and he longed for Ireland._

 _One day, something terrible happened. The mother woke up with a fever. She suffered from a headache, she couldn't eat, she felt too tired to even get up! The ship doctor said she was gravely ill. He took her to separate part of the ship, where no one could see her. A few days later, the doctor came to the boy and his father. The mother died._

 _The boy never felt so awful in his life. His father became very sad; he did not pay attention to his son. He missed his wife. The boy cried, but didn't know what to do. He wanted to see his mother, his sweet mother who'd been with him all his life. Without anyone to talk to, he decided to write in his journal._

 _He wrote about missing his mother, his life in Ireland, and his uncertainty about America. He wrote little stories he dreamed up in his head, ones that made him think of fairy tales she read. Many more days after his mother died, the Seagull docked in Ellis Island._

 _The passengers had to be inspected first. Anyone who felt funny had to stay on the island before they could to the city of New York. The boy felt embarrassed, but he didn't know what to say. He didn't even speak English!_

 _Two days after the boat docked, they took another boat to New York City, which is on the mainland. The father and the boy did not know where to go, who to trust, or what to say. A man named Mr. Murphy, who happened to be Irish, led them to a boarding house full of other Irishmen. It was dirty, cramped, and smelly, but they lived there because they needed to save money. The father got a job at a factory, working long hours. The boy did odd jobs for richer people, who paid him a few pennies._

 _America did not impress him. They didn't have a better life. He was still poor, lonely, hungry, and he missed his mother. His only friends were his father and his journal, which he wrote in every night. More time- two whole years- passed. The father didn't make very much money, so his son had to work in the factory, where he received less money than his father. The long hours, harsh treatment, and sadness wore at him. He made some friends; however, they had to grow up very fast too, so he rarely saw them. Finally the boy decided he was so miserable that he wanted to go back to Ireland, without his father. He ran to the docks; no ship would take him. He prepared to jump in, to swim across the ocean. Maybe then God felt sorry, for an angel appeared to save him._

 _A pretty girl told him not to jump, because no man can swim across the ocean. She told him he should treat his life with more value. The boy yelled at her angrily. But she looked into his eyes, mesmerizing him. She ordered him not to leap into the cold water. This time he listened. The angel comforted him. That night the boy went back to his father, who wept to hear his son almost went into the sea. After that the father had his son leave the factory to wait until he got older. So he returned to odd jobs on the street. Guess who was there? The angel who rescued him! From that day forward, the two remained the best of friends, and they still are close to this very day."_

I steal a wink at Matilda, my angel. A secret smile plays across her lips, but Baby Elliot breaks into a fit of wails at that moment. Mattie goes to her youngest while Jack, curled up on my lap, stirs in his sleep. The story put him to sleep, but I'm rather glad of that. I hope he didn't hear about my mother's death or my near suicide.

"You'll do better, son," I whisper into his unhearing ear as I carry him to his bed. "I, your father swear it." He doesn't wake even after I tuck him under a quilt. I kiss his forhead before returning to the kitchen. "Merry Christmas, _mo amhrán_."

* * *

 ** _Mo amhran_ : My son.**


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm going to the market, Mother." Belinda wrapped her ocher wool shawl around her forearms. "I'll be back soon. Is there anything you want me to get?"

"What can we afford?" Matilda wiped her hands on her apron. "The cod should be on sale today, and the cabbage. Don't know about onions. I seriously need cottage cheese."

"Yes Mama." Belinda held out her hand for the change. At fourteen she was allowed certain privileges, like running on errands alone.

"Come straight back; don't delay." Matilda pressed a quarter in her hand. "Good girl."

"Can I go with?" Jack pleaded. "Please? Please?"

"You're rather young to be walking all the way to the market," his mother reminded him. "You'll be tired."

"I won't get tired, I promise. I wanna go out." He pointed to the door. "Please Mama?"  
"Jack, be reasonable."

"What ree-zun-u-vull?"  
"Reasonable. You use your head."

"Huh?"

"You think about what you're going to do along with the consequences that will come of it." Matilda pulled a spool of red yarn with two knitting needles protruding out of a drawer. "I'm being reasonable by thinking about how a walk to the marketplace will affect you."

"Mama!" the child cried, even more perplexed.

"Jack. I'm thinking about what's best for you. You'd get in your sister's way."

"I can take him, Mother," Belinda said kindly. She winked at her baby brother, who returned a gleeful grin. "He'll watch out for me."

"If you're sure, dear. Jack, say thank you."

"Thank you, Linda." Unable to pronounce his b's, Jack called his oldest sister by a pet name. To him _Linda_ sounded prettier.

"Come on Jackie." A basket on her elbow and her brother clutching her apron, Belinda Kelly stepped out onto the fire escape into the sunlight. On summer mid mornings like this, the sun cast a pale daffodil yellow over the earth, sprucing up even the filthiest of slums. At eleven o'clock, New York resembled a hive of bees, all clamoring for something. Food, clothing, money, naughtier satisfactions. Although it was only a short jaunt to the market, Belinda made sure to keep her brother's hand clasped in hers at all times.

Down 196th Street they sauntered. Women unfurled damp, newly cleaned bed linens on their balconies to hang on clotheslines. Men either fortunate enough to have later working hours or heinously tardy strolled to their respective occupations. Children scampered across the cobblestones, rolling balls, marbles, or tops. Though she did not live in the nicest area of town, Belinda loved the little joys of her home.

The siblings reached the market in fifteen soon enough. Fishmongers and butchers donned their striped aprons, both stained crimson from the catch of the day. Peddlers displayed their collections of pots, pans, and miscellaneous kitchenware. Merchants carrying rare spices, common vegetables, painted store signs advertising goods one did not buy on a frequent occasion for their finances' sake, the occasional horse-drawn buggy carving a temporary path through the throng of customers. To Jack, the market resembled a box of jazzy toys waiting to be played with, but Belinda recognized the dangers of an open market. Kids could get lost, stolen, or worse.

"Stay close," she hissed in his ear as she dragged her brother to the fishmonger. Eight cents for cod, a penny per cabbage head (she purchased two), four for a slab of cottage cheese, and five cents on five onions. Belinda bargained fiercely, saving nine cents in total. Jack only quaked in his shoes, eager to get moving as his sister haggled over prices. His fondness for the market decreased somewhat upon realizing what "going out" really meant.

"Come on Jackie," his sister finally declared, her basket filled. "Let's go home." The child rubbed his eyes before yawning. His knobbly knees buckled, his sweaty palm quivered weakly.

"Mother was right; you got tired, didn't you?" Jack nodded, too sleepy to lie. Sighing irritably, Belinda hoisted him up and rested him on her shoulder. "That better?"

"Mmm," he uttered before dozing off. Belinda adjusted the cumbersome burden further before commencing the trek home. _At least he can't run away_. What had been a quick trot became a draining march. Dodging horse droppings, Belinda trudged two blocks before setting Jack down. She flung off her muggy wool shawl, letting the heat ripple off her body in short pants. Jack whimpered, unhappy to stand.

"Gotta hurry, the food will go bad," she muttered under her breath. "Wish I'd listened, Mother."

"Hey there!" Roger Weber waved as he braked his bicycle, screeching to a halt. Brown hair, hazel eyes, somewhat richer and definitely more pampered, Roger was the golden boy of her school. The girls would gather in circles to worship his handsome features while the guys, follower or rival, envied his easy lifestyle. The one person who openly loathed him was Ms. Florence Allan, the teacher, on the account of his indolence.

"Hello Roger." She smoothed her fawn skirt awkwardly. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. Need a lift?"

"What?"

"You got some groceries and a brother. This the brother you talk about in school?" He pointed to Jack.

"I never-"

"I heard you talking with the girls." He smiled. "It's okay. I think it's nice that you care about your baby brother. Here." He lowered a metal seat behind his. "You sit there and hold the kid. Just tell me where to go."

"Okay," she breathed nervously. A gale whirled in her stomach. Roger Weber giving her a ride. Jack collapsing. All this occurred on a simple errand.

Belinda, grasping her shawl and basket, climbed on the seat, spooning Jack on her lap. Roger kicked off before pedaling furiously. The bike flew past the buildings, people blurring by. Belinda gasped, hugging her things tighter. Never in her life had she gone so fast.

"Where to?" Roger asked.

"605 196th Street," she breathed. "Oh god!" Belinda's rosy cheeks smashed into Roger's back as he braked to let a passerby dash across the street. Jack squirmed uncomfortably.

"Don't worry, you're perfectly fine." Roger wove throughout the horde of humans until they reached peaceful 196th Street. He parked smoothly right outside their building. Belinda dismounted, still cradling her brother and basket.

"Thank you so much, you're a life saver," she said, her eyes glowing.

"No problem," he replied, tipping his hat. "See you at school." Belinda gazed intently as he sped off, her knees buckling slightly. Jack pouted.

"Let's go Linda," he urged.

"Hush," she muttered. "Roger Weber. Hmm." _Roger Weber gave me a ride home. Roger Weber complimented me. Roger Weber owns a bicycle. Roger Weber likes me._

"Linda!" Jack began hopping up the stairs alone. "Come on!"

"Alright, I'm coming." Her thoughts still swirling around Roger's sterling face, Belinda Kelly hurried back up to their home. _Roger Weber, I love you too._


	10. Chapter 10

Dear Diary,

I'm not fond of diaries. I'm lucky to have found this old notebook while cleaning out the children's old things. Belinda used to take notes in this, but she hasn't used it for years. I now mark this as my diary, I suppose.

They laughed. Those Irish men...men like my husband. Seeing them there, I seriously had trouble believing they came from the same land as Gerald.

I simply was walking to the market when I stopped in the Chinatown district, on Canal Street, to visit. I remember the place very well; I once lived there. After Father died in that riverboat accident, not long after Thomas died, Mother decided we must move to New York. She couldn't afford a trek west, though she badly wished to return to San Francisco. So we rode the train east to Manhattan, where plenty of Chinese bachelors wished to find a wife. Mother didn't remarry; I don't think she had the time to meet any guys!

Anyway, I forgot mention I'm half-Asian. Father was Jewish, but Mother came from China with her widowed father in 1849 to dig for gold near San Francisco. They didn't find any gold, and her father was killed by a robber they day she turned seventeen. Mother stowed away on a train headed east; she disembarked in Missouri, where no one cared for a China-woman except for evil purposes. She dressed a boy to find work on the river; that's how Father found her. He was a cub pilot at the time. They fell in love. He kept her secret and taught her how to steer a riverboat; she taught him how to speak Cantonese. They married soon after he graduated to pro pilot.

It's a happy story on the surface, but there's much sorrow woven in. Neither of my parents felt very welcome in Missouri; Mother couldn't convince people not to hate yellows while Father didn't let anyone but us know his Jewish ancestry. I still can see him sneaking off to the synagogue each Saturday evening so no one would find out. Then my brother Thomas died at sixteen; he'd been training as a cub pilot when the engine exploded. My family never truly recovered; Father perished under similar circumstances only a year afterwards.

Mother herded Lillian and me to New York; she managed as a laundress while we attended school. I hated New York at first, but life went on. I even met Gerald, a young Irish lad attempting to drown himself over his lost mother; we found common ground.

I don't look very Chinese. Lillian sort of does. Out of all of us, Thomas resembled Mother the best. Yes he had red hair and freckles like Papa, but he also possessed Mama's small rounded eyes, her short eyelashes, her build... I miss my brother very much. I resemble Father; you would never guess I am my mother's daughter except for my eyes. I got them from her.

Enough of that. I was visiting my old neighbor while delivering his laundry, Mr. An Sung. He's a friendly old man that helped us settle in Chinatown. I offered to take him for a walk, since he needs to get out more, so he agreed. While we strolled down Canal Street these goons show up to make fun of our eyes.

Chink, they said. Chink as in our eyes. One of them burst into Irish, so I know they're my husband's people. Still, how could they hurt us so? Mr. Sung said nothing, but I saw him starting to tear up. I felt relieved my children weren't with; I cannot let them feel inferior. I am fierce, proud, grateful- I wear my mother's eyes with joy.

Why can't I be half-Asian without folks ogling at me? I stick out like a sore thumb among the Asian fellows, although several have taken Irish wives due to the lack of women. But whites ridicule my people, my mother's people. I feel so lost.

I'm glad for my husband and my children, but I don't know if he'll understand when I tell him about this. I must keep this shame bottled up, so I write. Why can't I be accepted? Why is America like this? I'M SO MAD THAT I WANNA SCREAM AND BREAK EVERYTHING!

Your miserable confidant,

Matilda Jyun Sau Kelly


	11. Chapter 11

Dear Matilda,

Things have not been going so well. Hank gambled away our farm during a game of poker. We have to leave all our hard work's fruit to a greedy cattle rancher with more land than the eye can see. It's just not fair. I'm glad he didn't gamble away the cash we've saved.

I've been selling things like crazy. The two heifer calves, the sheep, the pig, my rocking chair, the curtains, one of Mother's silver locket. We need the money. I want to keep the animals, but our wagon will only hold so much. We're taking our two oxen, our cow, the chickens, and our dog, Hawthorne. The sofa will have to be sold; I can't stop crying over a stupid piece of furniture. It's only because I spent four years saving...

I shouldn't talk only of misery to you. Ruby is getting married, which is another reason we need money. I don't care for the boy; he's a dimwitted fellow, but I want her to be happy. She gets our nice chairs; the sofa cannot fit into her husband's wagon. They're moving to the Dakotas. I am not happy about losing my oldest daughter, but Vera is here.

Hank seems too glad about moving. I'm starting to think he lost the card game on purpose. He thinks Santa Fe will be the best place to go; God knows. I'm not sure we can make it that far, but he is my husband.

The wedding will be in a month; we've been sewing Ruby's dowry like crazy. She gets the goats, since they can produce milk. I wonder if she will miss us, but I am being selfish. Vera wants to live with her sister, but I can't relinquish both children. Not fair, not fair at all.

I must sound like a whiny brat. Well, I feel like one. Do you know what would help me? You. I think you should move west. We can meet up at Santa Fe. I know New York hasn't been kind to you and Gerald. You got kids; do you want them to be bullied by that city? Come live with us; we can send you money for everything.

Money lies on the ground- literally. You take a plow and start farming. Crops practically pop out of the dirt! You can get rich through hard work. There' more than just farming: mining, splitting rails, ranching, trading. We could go into business together! Please, dear sister, consider it. The west is beautiful. The whole sky can be seen. Think of majestic sunsets! Endless seas of grain! There's stores selling luxury goods like the ones sold in New York. Matilda, please consider this. I do miss you so. We've not met face to face since my wedding eighteen years ago.

I hope you and the children are doing well. Give my love to them.

Your loving sister,

Lillian Sin Neoi Aster

* * *

 **Sin Neoi- First Daughter**

 **Jyun Sau- Graceful Hand**

 **(Note: These names are Cantonese. Words like "jyun," "sau," etc. are reused multiple times under different accents or tones, which alter the meaning.)**

 **Matilda and Lillian are biracial Chinese American women. The Chinatown on Canal St. in NYC really did exist and continues to be an epicenter of Chinese culture today. Many Chinese came to US as laborers to work on construction projects, like the Transcontinental Railroad. However, they faced Yellow Peril, discrimination, and the Oriental Exclusion Act of 1882, which prevented many from reuniting w/ their families on US soil. More laws based on Yellow Peril would follow, like the Oriental Exclusion Act of 1924.**

 **I'm not sure how Jack got the idea to go to Santa Fe, so I used artistic license to place his inspiration in his early childhood- a dream never realized by his family. However, he did tell Davey that he had no folks anywhere by 1899, even in Santa Fe, so they did not reach the city of clay.**


	12. Chapter 12

"Listen up, you chumps. I'm only saying this once, so shut your mugs and pay attention." Aidan Sullivan, president of the Mac-Griffin Leather Factory Union, slammed his meaty fists on the rickety stump of wood we called a podium. The union, which consisted of nearly fifty concerned workers, fell silent as the man began to speak.

"Mac-Griffin has cheated us."

"Aye!" Fists pumped enthusiastically.

"Keep your shirts on," Aidan snapped. "You want me to finish or not? Anyway, Mac-Griffin is a greedy louse stealing our hard earned pay. Today you all heard his 'announcement.' I have the whole damn thing in writing here." He held up a slip of paper. "'Due to circumstances beyond my control, such as the drop in the sales of leather and the loss of several clients, measures must be taken to ensure our good factory will survive. It is my regret to tell you that all wages must be cut, and all men above the age of fifty-five must be let go unless stated otherwise.'"

Furious cries electrified the Togalach. Men cursed the name of Mac-Griffin. Signs reading "What About Our Rights?" or "Let Me Feed My Family" bobbed like corks on a sea of workers. In the back corner a banner screamed, "Men of Color Need Good Jobs Too!"

"I ain't done yet!" Aidan added harshly. "Let's not forget the two wage cuts before this one, along with the dangers we've faced on a daily basis! Every single day, for fifteen hours, I risk getting my hand getting a hole punched through it! The kids at the sewing machines get their hands caught, crippling them. I'm not even gonna mention the pressing machines, the tanning, the furnaces, the vermin, the long hours, the flying sparks..."

The fellows went wild. A hundred feet pounded the floor so vehemently I thought the floor would be broken and we'd fall down a level. My heart rattled within my ribs. The insides of my ears throbbed from all the noise, but I was glad of it. Proud these men were changing the world. I pictured myself surprising Mattie with a suitable salary, enough to buy her whatever her heart desired. My children could purchase ice cream on a muggy day. Less baggage under me eyes. The simple idea eased the aching in my back.

"Mac-Griffin has cheated us! Robbed us!" Aidan's olive eyes burned, living up to his name, which means "fiery" in my native tongue. "He demands more of us, like donkeys pulling his carriage. He thinks only of his fat pocketbook. We've families- wives, children, old parents- that need feeding. I haven't bought my wife a present in over a year. Do you really believe any of us can afford a third wage cut?"

"NO! Down with Mac-Griffin!"

"Here's what I have to say to that bully," our president bellowed. "I WILL NOT WORK FOR A MAN WHO WILL NOT REWARD ME WITH THE FAIR PAYMENT! I WILL NOT WORK FOR A MAN WHO TREATS ME LIKE A SLAVE! AND I WOULD SOONER PICKET OUTSIDE HIS OFFICE THAN BREAK MY BACK TO EARN A COUPLE OF PENNIES! WHO'S WITH ME?"

The crowd roared brilliantly. "NOT SLAVES, NOT SLAVES, NOT SLAVES!"

"Try actually being a slave!" a man hollered from the back corner. "I'm not going back to that!"

"We need to tell Mac-Griffin what we thinks of him!" DeLuca leaped up onto the makeshift stage eagerly. "I say we write a letter- a nicely worded letter, mind you- telling him we ain't taking this treatment any longer."

"Say he don't respond?" Arnold White, the Doubter, cocked his head.

"He'll have a mailbox flooded with letters and more if he ignores us."

"Bah! I say we put an end to him for good," Jonas Pokiser, a wanton drunkard, hissed maliciously. "God's got a special reservation for him."

"We can't do that!" another cried. "Just tell the cops."

"Are you insane? The cops don't give a shit about us."

"Burn the factory."

"We want better jobs, not no jobs."

"Enough!" Aidan hammered the podium. "It is now time for a speech from our treasurer, Mr. Gerald Kelly. Let's have a hand." Mild applause followed, DeLuca inserting an out-of-place whoop. Wiping my sweaty palms on my trousers, I replaced Aidan as the center of attention.

"Good evening gents," I began, forcing my shaky voice to be steady. _Be calm, they're looking up to you._ "We're all here for a similar cause. Mac-Griffin wrecked our livelihoods, our way of supporting our folks. There's a bazillion reasons we felt the need to gather at the Togalach. We're tired." Murmurs of assent rippled through the room. I inhaled heartily, somewhat reassured.

"Aidan listed all the issues we got with stinking Mac-Griffin. But what we need is a solution. A way to make him listen while keeping food on the table. Something nobody will forget. Something that'll set a spark, start a fire that will change everything about New York and the way things are run. Gentlemen, as respectable employees of the leather business, I propose-" clearing my throat "-a, a..." My words caught in my throat. _Can I really do this? Am I ready to shoulder such a burden? Men's lives at stake here, Gerald._ I started something. I had to complete it.

"What be it Kelly?" The guys clamored closer as if I were offering them a delicacy. Well, my suggestion certainly proved food for thought. _Mattie, please don't kill me._

"A strike." I uttered it more loudly than I realized. "A strike."

Silence. Astonished, dumbfounded, frightened. I bored into their eyes, anticipating a reaction. Nothing. Aidan glowered at me from the side, eyeing the speech he'd composed for me. In my nervousness I'd crumpled it into a ball. Guilt stabbed my side; I betrayed his trust. I now planted the seeds for a possibly violent rebellion against the company my comrades' lives, including my own, depended on. _What have I done?_

A raspy cough. An inaudible whisper. Then the shouting exploded.


	13. Chapter 13

"A strike?" My wife shakes her head, trying to wrap her mind around it. "A strike? Gerald, are you mad?"

"My head has never been clearer," I reply, strangely calm. Matilda keeps yelling at me, saying I'm nuts, but after the brouhaha in the Togalach, no shouting can affect me. I've become immune. And I'll have to stay like this, until we get our rights.

"Gerald, are you listening?" Matilda grabs my hand. "Gerald! Do you understand what I'm saying? I'm saying you can't strike; you need this job. Laundry doesn't make much money. We have seven children- seven! They all need food and clothes and school. I'm not mending another worn dress- Gerald, for God's sake, do you care at all about us?"

I sit at the kitchen table, massaging my temples. I can't believe what's happened. Only six hours ago I was here, getting ready for that meeting. Now I'm a leader- a leader!

"Papa." Belinda, my sweet girl, comes into the kitchen. She's taller than I remember; how much can a girl grow in six hours? Time's flying; soon I might be dead and never have a decent day at work. _You are doing the right thing_ , I tell myself.

"Your father just threw his job away," Matilda spits.

"Matilda!" I protest. "I haven't been fired, and I won't be if Mac-Guffin has any sense. It's just a demonstration. It will be quick and fast."

"It's never quick and fast!" Matilda throws up her hands. "God dammit, Gerald, I'm so angry with you!"

"Mother!" Belinda gapes, shocked that her sweet mama cursed.

"Well, I'm sorry, I just so happen to want to be able to feed my family!" My wife throws on her shawl and stomps toward the fire escape.

"Where are you going?"

"Out, that's what. If you can go and do as you please, then so can I."

"Matilda!" I sigh. She's forgetting this is America. "We'll be fine; it's just-"

"Not fine!" She flings the door ajar.

"Matilda, you're not going out drinking." I'm half-serious, half-joking. I try to imagine my sweet, pure Mattie girl, sitting on rickety stool or chair in a tavern full of drunkards and ruffians. It's so impossible I want to laugh and cry out in horror at the same time.

"I never said I was going drink- at least not like you." She pauses before stepping out. "Money needs to be saved. I'm just going out. I need to think and clear my head."

"It's cold. You-"

"You know what it is to starve, Gerald." Her voice is not longer loud, but still angry. Hard, serious, not raising or lowering at all. "You lived through the potato blight."

The humor dies. My mouth drops open slightly, not sure if I heard right. _Potato blight._ The words vibrate in my head. I heard right. My fists clench, my stomach tightens, and I breathe fire, like the dragons in my mother's stories.

"Don't. Go. There." I speak in tight, terse, harsh puffs, the way a man gasps for air when he knows he's drowning. My chest is heavy and leaden, my ears are filling up, my arms weaken all over… I'm drowning in my past.

"Gerald-"

"No, no, NO!" I roar. "You have no idea what the Great Starvation was like! So never- and I mean never- try and act like you do!"

Potato pratties smelling like dung. The searing, numb, and then dull ache in our stomachs, slowly killing us. Desolate fields stretching, overtaking the green hills I so loved. The children piling up, dead decades too soon. Their parents following them, ready to escape this cycle of pain. Our landlord fleeing to England, where food was available, abandoning us to our fates. My mother, the coffin ship we took to get away, the mummy thrown into the sea…

I'm drowning in the sea of fear, loneliness, and sorrow. So unjust, so unfair, so out of our hands. So many deaths that would not have happened if justice was served. True, we might not have been able to prevent the blight, but we could have made room for all of us. I'm sure. If only the English and the landlords and the nobles and… too much.

Matilda's visibly shaken, seeing me vent my rage. I shouldn't be vindictive, and I'd never hurt my love, but I want her to feel some of my pain. I want to be rid of this, this… burden. My father's agony, my mother's death, this drowning of my soul… I want her to see why this strike must happen. If my father had striked, maybe his body would not have been worked to the point where it broke like an old gear. Maybe I'd still have a father if it weren't for the bosses. Maybe if he'd stood up…

 _Let the dead rest in peace_. I can't bring back Father. But I can bring back myself. And I will create a new, better world for my Belinda, who is huddled by the table, frightened. Her caramel hair shrouds her face. God, she looks so much like her mother… and not too different from mine.

Matilda still stands in the doorway, letting the chilly air rush in. She has nothing to say for once. I've rendered her speechless- an impossible task- but I feel no victory. Only ashes. We stand still, paralyzed from the hurt, wanting to speak but having no words to put upon our tongues. Our mouths are filled with gray ash, our lungs with seawater, and our minds- the mind is a maze to get lost and starve in. I'm not sure why it was made at all, except to punish us for two stupid humans eating forbidden fruit like mischievous schoolchildren.

Finally Matilda, my wife and love- _mo ghra_ \- speaks. "I'm sorry, Gerald. I-" She breaks off before turning to go. "I'm with child." Then she leaves.

Belinda flees to the children's room, where they all hide. I catch a glimpse of Jack peeking out at me with Mary before the door closes. Beautiful, _mo seada_ , whom I am striking for.

I am right. Justice in America is possible. _Amerikay. Ceartas. Mathair. Saorise_. I will avenge and find you.

* * *

 **Mo ghra- my love**

 **Mo seada- my treasures**

 **Amerikay- America**

 **Ceartas- Justice**

 **Mathair- Mother**

 **Saorise- Freedom**


End file.
